


Fragments of Prayer

by AerynPhoenix



Category: Pathfinder: Kingmaker (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 00:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AerynPhoenix/pseuds/AerynPhoenix
Summary: The Baroness tells Tristian a story, one he knows he has no right to hear.





	Fragments of Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> There are spoilers scattered throughout anything I might post here, and I do occasionally use direct or slightly modified game dialogue. I have a few other drabbles in the works featuring the lovely Tristian and various Baronesses of mine, so those will possibly end up added to this as a collection of one shots.

Some nights, prayer was impossible.

After so many months of traveling with the diverse and colorful companions the Baroness seemed destined to attract, Tristian was finally, slowly coming to terms with the fact that mortals were incomprehensively _noisy_ creatures. It was something he had not experienced before, this unquenchable need within each of them to fill every moment with sound and action and emotion and dramatic behavior. Mortals were always _busy_ , never still, sometimes not even in sleep. He understood the why of it, of course, with their lives being finite and all, but even knowing that, it was often difficult to concentrate on his own thoughts while being constantly inundated with theirs.

Tonight, their camp was filled with the sound of raised voices. Regongar and Octavia were quarreling again, and not even the Baroness seemed interested in getting involved to pacify the situation this time. Amiri had gone to hunt hours ago and still not returned, so the already angry couple had taken it upon themselves to cook… _something_ for dinner. Nok-Nok had gotten involved somewhere along the way, and a rather unfriendly competition of sorts had evolved between the three of them. With the camp soon reeking of burned food, Tristian retreated to the farthest point upwind he could find, desperate for some semblance of peace.

Under the soft glow of his Light cantrip, Tristian pulled a worn book from his backpack. Casting a guilty look around to make sure he was not being observed, he opened to the marked page near the middle and began to read where he had last left off. Within moments, the words caused his brow to furrow in confusion and concern, the same reaction he had every other time he attempted to extract any sort of meaningful information from this particular text.

The forcefulness of the passage before him was off-putting enough on its own. The woman was described as both angry and fearful, yet her thoughts had turned to desire when the brute of a man attacked and restrained her? New as he was to the concept of physical love, Tristian was fairly certain this was not an example of a healthy relationship.

His eyes shifted up from the pages to watch as Regongar and Octavia continued to rage at one another, their faces inches apart, both flushed with anger, hurtful words dripping like poison from their lips. If history stayed true to itself, the two of them would retreat to their tent soon and spend the next several hours keeping everyone else awake as they "reconciled" this dispute. If the text in his hand was promoting _that_ kind of relationship, it was no wonder Tristian had not learned anything helpful from it!

A delighted gasp from over his shoulder had Tristian fumbling madly to close and hide the book, his face burning with embarrassment at being caught. " _Nights in Katapesh_?" the Baroness asked with a laugh as she leaned over the wide-eyed priest to inspect the object in his lap. "My goodness, Tristian, I would never have imagined your taste in literature was so… adventurous!"

Staring at her gleeful, catlike grin, Tristian could only flounder silently for a moment before a trill of nervous laughter escaped him. "Y-you're familiar with this… treatise?" he finally managed.

"Of course, darling" she answered lightly. Moving around from behind him, she plopped down onto the grass a few feet away, her body angled in such a way that she could watch either the chaos in camp or Tristian's face should she choose. She cast a wink his direction, then turned her idle stare toward the flurry of activity beside the fire. "I'm something of an expert in ridiculous fiction."

"So, it _is_ ridiculous then!" Tristian heard himself exclaim with relief before he could think better of it. Her cunning gaze swiveled back to study his features curiously, and he knew once again that his own naiveté had revealed too much of his true nature. It was very uncommon for a human man of his apparent age to be so flummoxed by these matters, so he hastened to add, "This sort of… _tale_ isn't exactly something you find at a temple of Sarenrae. None that I've visited at least. I thought it might help me to more clearly understand certain things, but…"

"Oh? What sorts of things, Tristian?" the woman beside him asked, voice dripping with false innocence that was completely at odds with the coy smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. She stretched out her legs and rolled onto her side to face him, one arm propping up her head while her free hand drifted toward him to touch a pretty spring flower near his knee. She was so close, he could have reached out and run his fingers through her hair, felt the texture of their silken strands.

Tristian's cheeks were painfully hot by then, and he found that a nervous laugh was the only answer he could immediately muster. He set the book aside and attempted to strike a casual posture by leaning back and resting his weight on his palms, the fingers of one hand very nearly touching her elbow. For a moment, he was tempted to lay his struggles bare before her in the hope that perhaps she would have mercy on him and explain in plain terms what he desperately wished to understand. Another playful glance from her shot a bolt of nervous energy through him once more and his courage fled.

Over time, he had grown somewhat accustomed to the _directness_ of the Baroness' flirtations, but having her focused so intently upon him right then was decidedly intimidating. She had never pushed him so far that he felt _uncomfortable_ , but obviously she enjoyed seeing him flustered. She had admitted as much on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, she seemed to enjoy seeing other people flustered as well, and with his nonexistent experience Tristian simply could not determine if her behavior toward him stemmed from her teasing personality alone, or from genuine feelings for him.

Determined to give her some kind of answer, he tried to clear his mind and focus so that his next words would not further betray him. Instead, Tristian found his eyes transfixed upon the woman's fingers as she gently caressed the flower in the grass between them. Her movements were slow but steady, hypnotic and tender as she traced the edge of each pink petal with the very tip of one finger, then smoothed each section straight with the pad of her thumb. Tristian could not understand why the sight made his heart beat faster, so he tore his gaze away and roughly cleared his throat.

"I-it was Linzi who recommended it," he finally managed to say in a rush. He took a deep breath and released it slowly before continuing. "I asked her advice, and she said this was the best you could find about… the passions." Tristian scoffed under his breath and offered the Baroness a crooked smile. "Maybe I just don't understand anything about literature. Or maybe she was using her unique sense of humor on me again."

"I wouldn't put it past her," the woman beside him agreed with a fond smile at nothing in particular. He noticed that she had withdrawn her hand from the flower and was now twirling a strand of hair around and around one finger. Enraptured by the slow, gentle movement, Tristian could not understand _why_ he found her hands so distracting. "Though it also wouldn't surprise me if that's exactly the sort of tawdry tale Linzi enjoys best. All male bravado and helpless, lust-drunk damsels… that's Linzi all over. I can see how it wouldn't appeal to you, though."

Tristian hummed thoughtfully in reply as he struggled with his wayward thoughts and the continued desire to be far too honest in this conversation. "I thought I could wrap my head around some… issues. No, not issues – problems… that are bothering me," he haltingly explained. "To find the words for something I cannot express. But instead I only became more confused." Her gaze was upon him again, and Tristian found he could not meet her eyes in that moment. Shaking his head ruefully, he admitted, "Sometimes I admire how easily you choose the words for what's on your mind."

She laughed at that, but it sounded forced compared to her other laughs and something like bitterness lingered in her tone when she spoke. "Yes, well… You can say anything with enough confidence and people will believe it." For a few heartbeats, it was the Baroness who would not meet Tristian's gaze, her expression clouded over with something dark and brooding. In the silence, he wondered what he had said wrong.

Before he had time to reach any conclusions on that thought, the Baroness shook off her melancholy. Her face brightened into a smile once more, and a playful spark lit her eyes as she indicated toward the book. "So, tell me, is that the only _treatise of love_ you've explored thus far? You should have come to me, darling. I would have found something perfect for you."

Laughing, Tristian relaxed a little as the tension eased once more into lighthearted flirting. "Do you have a more helpful title in mind?" he asked. It startled him to hear a decidedly playful note in his own voice. He had tried so hard to keep her at a distance, to be certain he would not make things more difficult for her than he had to, but she was positively _infectious_ and _impossible_ to ignore.

"No, but…" she answered slowly, her eyes again going strange and distant for a moment, before she pinned him with a look that was a complete mystery to him. Across her face was a rolling mixture of fear, determination, recklessness, and _warmth_ , a twisted bundle that confused and captivated Tristian in turns. He came to the simultaneous realization that he had let this exchange go on for far too long, and that he could not live without seeing where it might go next.

The Baroness abruptly sat up, crossed her legs and scooted close beside him, so near that her knee was pressed up against his thigh. An excited smile had taken over her features, and Tristian was breathless and enraptured by the sight.

"But," she repeated in something of a conspiratorial whisper, "I can tell you a story right now. One that… well," she gave a short, nervous laugh, "you won't find a more relevant one, that's for sure. Maybe it'll help you find the words you've been looking for."

Still locked in place, Tristian swallowed hard as he tried to process her offer. "Y-you want to tell me… a story? Like…" his eyes darted to the book sitting beside him then back to her face, "like _that one_?" As awful as the book was, he could not imagine how he would react upon hearing this woman recite some of its more detailed depictions…

Her laughter then was the most genuine he had heard in a long time, a throaty, heartfelt chuckle that shook her shoulders and made her eyes glitter like stars. "No, Tristian," she gently chided as she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. He could see the anxiety returning to her face in the way her smile tightened. "I'm no bard, but I promise it will be nothing like that book. It'll teach you about love and… passion. That's what you're looking for, right?"

He needed to walk away, right now. He needed to get as far from this tempting woman as he could before something wonderful and terrible and _unforgivable_ happened. He needed to be strong enough to let her go, for her own sake.

Slowly, Tristian sat forward and shifted away from the Baroness, changing his position until it mirrored her own: legs crossed, face to face, his knees nearly touching hers.

Sarenrae have mercy on him, but he could not deny her. It all felt so _soothing_ and _right_ , the ever-present frisson of gentle heat between them, the joy of laughter freely given and the comfort of her steadfast companionship. How long had he been denied those things? How he could _not_ be drawn in? Could _anyone_ be that strong?

She was staring at him expectantly, eyes drinking in his pensive expression.

"All right," he softly conceded. "Tell me your story, Baroness." He could see the surprise on her face for just a moment, and the realization that _he_ had caught _her_ off guard for once chased away his smothering doubts and caused a warm, smug feeling to flare up within him.

"Okay... but no interrupting!" she cautioned. Straightening her shoulders, she sat up a bit more and drew in a slow, deep breath. When she opened her mouth to speak, though, her throat caught and she sighed.

"Close your eyes," she instructed him. When he didn't immediately comply, she impatiently added, "You have to use your imagination. And I'm going to mess it all up with you staring at me like that!"

Yes, she was definitely flustered. Flashing her a quick smile, Tristian obediently shut his eyes to the world, blocking out the sight of the Baroness before him and focusing instead on the flowing melody of her voice. It was several heartbeats before she began to speak, slowly and awkwardly at first, but settling soon into an almost poetic cadence.

"He is by far the most beautiful man she's ever seen. It isn't because she could gaze into the sunset of his eyes for hours on end, or because she spends far too much time dreaming of running her fingers through the shining rays of his hair. No, the beauty she's drawn to lives in his soul, his spirit… his heart. She sometimes wonders if his goddess herself formed him to such perfection, molded him by hand from pure joy, kindness and sunlight."

Tristian's breath caught in this throat, and he hoped, prayed, _desperately_ that the woman in front of him would think his reaction was simply surprise, flattery perhaps at the description that was so accidentally close to the truth. _Sarenrae, how can she so easily, so quickly, so deftly cut straight to the core of me?_

"No one has ever looked at her the way he does, as if she is precious, somehow perfect the way she is. He doesn't seem to see that she's flawed and weak and fearful, and if he knows these things about her, he accepts them anyway, without criticism or shame."

He longed to stop her words then, to tell her that he was just as broken, just as terrified, just as weak – _no, no that's a lie. She is so much stronger than I am! Fearless_ …

"He trusts her, and she feels so, so very unworthy of that trust, but she selfishly basks in it nonetheless. What else can she do? She is bewitched by his sincerity, enthralled by his strength, enamored of his… _passion_."

She drew out the last word, the sounds curling on her tongue and tickling his ears, coaxing the writhing feeling of unease within him into something only slightly less unpleasant and altogether unfamiliar.

"She wonders at times where his passion would lead if turned upon _her_."

In his already heightened emotional state, feeling exposed, vulnerable, and on completely foreign terrain, the Baroness' whispered musing sent a startling jolt of desire coursing through the pit of Tristian's stomach. It was a lurching, giddy sensation that was so distracting, he very nearly missed the next words to leave her lips. He felt her hands curl over his, so warm and soft, and he clung to them tightly, _craving_ the contact of skin against skin in a way he never had before.

"Would he run his hands through her hair? Would he hold her close, patiently memorizing the contours of her shape with his fingertips? Would he whisper her name against her lips before he kisses her?" She slowly sighed then, pulling another wave of sensation from Tristian, this one deeper and lower than the last. "Gods, but she hopes he will…"

His breathing had gone uneven, and he was certain she could feel the trembling of his hands in hers. She paused for a moment, and he was torn between a desperate _need_ for her to continue and silent prayer for her to _please, stop… before it's too late…_

"She wonders if he dreams of holding her beneath the stars, watching them shine and dance in the darkness. She wonders what it would be like to pull him close on a whim and share a whispered, private secret that is theirs and only theirs. She wonders… she wonders if he is as terrified of losing her as she is of losing him."

Her voice wavered near the end, and he stiffened in surprise as she pulled one of her hands free to gently brush a single tear from his cheek. He had not even known it was there. Her fingers were so warm that when she began to pull away, he immediately grasped for her hand once more, pulling it flush against his cheek. His lips sought purchase against her wrist, seemingly of their own accord, and he could feel her pulse jump and race beneath her silken skin. Her breath hitched in her throat, and for that one, tiny, fleeting, _fleeing_ moment, Tristian felt that he _almost_ understood why mortals paid such reverence to physical affection.

_This was not supposed to happen._

A new disturbance in the camp drew the Baroness' attention away from him. With great reluctance, Tristian allowed her hands to pull from his grasp, but he remained still as stone where he was, head slightly bowed and eyes shut to the world. He could not trust himself to look upon the woman before him at that moment, uncertain what to do with the bevy of emotions and sensations rioting within him. When the Baroness suddenly turned back to him and leaned in close, the cloth of her tunic rustling against his robes, her breath warm against his face, he was _absolutely certain_ she meant to kiss him.

He held his breath and made no move to stop her.

But instead of his mouth, her warm lips lingered against his brow, and he found himself torn between disappointment and relief as he fought to adjust to the intimacy of the moment. Sliding back, she pressed her forehead against his and whispered, "That's all of the story that's written so far, Tristian. If you wish to help me finish it, well…" he could feel the heat of her smile, teasing and kind, so very close to his lips, "you know where I live."

His breath left him in a rush as she pulled away and strode from him toward the camp. Heart pounding, Tristian opened his eyes to watch her walk, the exaggerated sway of her hips like a beacon though he could not understand _why_. She was so enthralling, so alluring, so much more than he could handle, but he craved her nonetheless. She had shown him just a glimpse of her thoughts, and now he wanted to see them all laid out before him, to map the direction and current of her heart and mind and body. He wanted to _know_ her in a way that he still could not put into words, even after all this.

And now he knew for certain that she desired to know him just as deeply, and in all the same ways. That knowledge, precious though it was to him, could not have been more devastating.

In the chaos of their camp, as angry voices continued to rage nearby, Tristian clutched at his holy symbol and sent a desperate plea to Sarenrae for strength.


End file.
